


Renovabitur Mundus

by Angeluscaligo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Multi, Nature Magic, Nemeton, Nogitsune, Paranormal, The paranormal is known about, The world knows about magic, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6496402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angeluscaligo/pseuds/Angeluscaligo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the paths of fate and destiny align, as the stars finally move into position and a massive pulse of energy surges through the ley-lines coverging around nemetons worldwide, a chain of events complete rejuvinate the Beacon Hills Preserve and, eventually, the entire USA.</p>
<p>Displacing millions from their homes as vast forests regrow to their primal sizes, a new nation arises from the new sea of green, led by a new kind of Druid and comprised of every kind of paranormal creature native to North-America. </p>
<p>What will happen and will the world at large cope with this very sudden, very obvious and potentially very dangerous revalation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The first strange event, that heralded the chain of happenings leading to our current position, was when a pair of joggers suddenly found themselves in the city centre whilest completing their morning routine, instead of at the edge of the Preserve where they had been running. No one could explain what happened and when others tried entering the Preserve afterwards, they found themselves similarly displaced instantly, far from where they tried to enter the Preserve at any point. A cordon of police officers was installed within the first day, ordered by county sherif John Stilinski, and the news of the strange situation spread. After a week, seventeen news crews from all over the USA were positioned outside the vast forest, as countless scientists tried to figure out what exactly was happening here and how it could be possible in any way. The only ones not affected by the strange displacement were people seemingly normal and yet strange of countenance or behaviour.

The second strange event in the chain was the sudden arrival and continued presence of a county-wide humming, loudest at the edges of the Preserve but heard anywhere open to the free winds. Again, this remained unexplained by scientific conventional theories or laws and by the point this began to happen, several scientists were close to shooting their brains out, after weeks of utter confusion and thoroughly usual results. Nothing extraordinary could be detected by scientific equipment and it was driving the news country-wide. But this was not the worst.

The third event, a chain of actions all connected under a single cause and origin, was the culmination of the whole happening and it heralded fully a eventual renewal for the entire world, understood only years later when all the facts had become known. It began when the humming suddenly and abruptly ceased in less than a second, at exactly 1.23 AM. The sudden absence of the background noise drew people out of their homes all over and this was probably the only reason anyone saw what happened next and were able to give such exact and detailled acounts.

At exactly 1.30 AM 30 seconds, the entire Preserve suddenly exploded with life. Trees grew up to ten times their previous heights, their vast canopies stretching far beyond the previous borders and massive rootsystems were upturning the soil up to 500 metres away from their previous locations. This continued on till 2.45 AM, by which point the Preserve had taken over a massive chunk of the urban borough between the city centre and the Preserve itself.

At 3.00 AM, a massive beam of light rended the sky, coming from the centre of the Preserve, later found to be originated from the renewed Nemeton whose enormous canopy had regrown and swelled to overshadow almost a quarter of the entire Preserve. This heralded another change in the chain of events, when all paranormal creatures previously anonymous or unknown were drawn to enter the Preserve, most against their will. Almost 20% of the city’s population became entranced and wandered into the overgrown Preserve, to become unseen for several weeks. Humans or “cured” paranormal creatures were left behind and were still rebuked from entering the forest by the initial spatial displacement.

In the two weeks after this, more and more paranormals came to Beacon Hills, all with the sole intent of entering the Preserve. By this time, the USA military had completely cordoned off the Preserve but the sheer power emanating from it kept all military perosnel at bay when they tried to stop paranormals from entering. Where they could not enter the Preserve due to some unseen events, they simply congregated in groups, only to vanish in a burst of light at midnight. Those who were captured by the military for research and experimentation vanished always at the same times. More over, those who had dared to hurt paranormals, by capturing them or experimenting on them, also vanished, only to emerge at the end as new paranormals themselves.

On May 15th 2015, the last event of the chain took place. At 1.23 PM, a breeze began to emanate from the Preserve, slowly affecting the manmade structures about it and making them crumble into dust over the course of one day. Many families had already been displaced and those who had remained were quickly evacuated when the breeze grew incredibly strong. By 1.23 PM the next day, all houses younger than 100 years in Beacon Hills had become dust, leaving a vast plain of sand and creeping trees in their wake. At them moment, the breeze ceased – only to be instantly replaced by a massive shockwave, more sensed by the mind than the body, which radiated outwards and covered the entire USA by the time it had stopped. Once more, the Preserve began a growthspurt, this time also spurring on all remains of primal forest in the USA to follow suit. By the end of the week, on May 22th 2015, half of the USA population had been displaced to temporary camps as forests all over became overgrown and increased back to their pre-colonial sizes.

This chain of events, taking place in one single month, from beginning to end, had effectively reduced the USA to a refugee state, as over 200 million people had become homeless and began crossing the borders to Canada and Mexico. Politicians were deposed, martial law was enacted and the UN urged the countries bordering the USA to aid in the humanitarian crisis. The crisis however became more severe when the first paranormals were released from the Preserve, with at the head of their government their leader, chosen by the Nemeton of Beacon Hills and supported by all the Nemetii left in the USA. Declared by a small country of paranormals as their Elder, even though the person was barely 18, there stepped forward as ambassador to all things supernatural, a modern Druid - Stiles Stilinski.


	2. The Emissary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First contact is made as an uneasy treaty is established - flashbacks ensue...

No explanations were given of any kind when Stiles introduced himself as the Elder of a new nation centred around the Nemeton of Beacon Hills. His entourage, existing of a very sizeable group of people, represented every strain of paranormal entities that were native to the USA. Initially they became surrounded by a heavy battery of USA military forces, threatening to shoot them if they did not surrender but their bravado was of short duration when Elder Stiles made each and every single one of their weapons crumble into dust with a single motion of his hand. At that, many of the militants fled but a brave few remained on post, insisting he stayed put and surrender.

“You really don’t get it, do you? I just made your riffle turn to dust and you’re still insistent I surrender? Why?” The officer merely shrugged as he answered. “Orders are orders, sir. I insist you surrender.” Stiles merely waved his hand in font of the man, knocking him into a deep sleep as he crumbled to the ground and proceeding to do the same to each left standing. As he and his group slowly approached the emergency shelter where the president sat, a few brave civilians retrieved the sleeping men to take care of them – aided by a few of Stiles’ group who merely assured those brave people the men were simply asleep. Remarkably, no protests or riots broke out at this after the group passed through and left their caretakers to aid the sleeping officers.

“Mister president, so terribly sorry to barge in. Always wanted to meet you – big fan, terrific job you did in New Orleans during your senatorship there by the way. I’m sorry if I’m rambling but this is all a bit new – you know how it goes…” Stiles rambled on for a few more minutes as he rigorously shook the president’s hand, making the stout man vibrate in his seat. “I’m Elder Stiles, appointed as such by the Nemeton of Beacon Hills. These are the representatives of the native paranormals of the USA, sir. We have lady Aria, ambassador for the merpeople“ A young redheaded woman bowed, her skin glistening as if wet in the light of day, “ser Selohn, elder for the selkies,” A middle-aged man with brown skin and white hair bowed, his deep eyes a luminous yellow, “countess Selena, second in command of the vampire clans,” an aged woman with milky skin and clouded eyes and raven black hair bowed, avoiding the rays of sun penetrating the shelter, “melady Darleen, former queen of the Wendigo clans, “ an elderly woman with unnervingly sharp teeth grinned at them, her claw like hands folded over each other, “sister Clarissa, representative of the north-American witch-covens, “ a normal-looking woman, her skin covered in a myriad of symbols and eyes almost black, “and a whole list of others who I shall introduce later on – but time’s running short as I speak, not you - of course, sir. Blabbering again, sorry – anyway…”

Five hours, twenty dozen coffees and half a tree worth of paper later, the group emerged from the shelter wielding a treaty between the paranormal world and the human culture in North-America, by which each side vowed to aid the other in a sustainable balance which ought to be upheld by punishment of exile outside. “I must ask, Elder Stiles, “ the president asked as he walked along the group with his own politicians, “what exactly happened? We have 200 million people homeless right now due to whatever happened in the Beacon Hills Preserve.” Stiles merely deadpanned as they reached the edge of the woods and turned to face the president. “I renewed the world, a bit too eagerly perhaps… But nobody will remain homeless if we work together. In a week, the first road will open itself up for the first people to resettle, as promised. Have them stand ready here with enough busses and we’ll take it from there when it all happens. Remember the deal we made, mister president, and the consequences that breaking it would bring…” At that, he followed the rest of the group as they were swallowed up by the forest.

“Druizyr Stilinski, trooli yoo kan not ‘ope taay shall folloo’ trooh taer end of te deel?” The witch asked the spastic teen, who has waving his hand at a particularly stuborn mosquitto which kept coming back after being blown off by the wind Stiles produced. “Clarissa Voron, do you dare imply I am bad at reading people?” He replies with a mocking scoff and dramatic gesture of flailing hands reaching his chest. “I’ll have you know I can read people just fine and that fine man is very willing to come through his part of the deal if it means saving his graces in the eyes of the public. Besides, when the people see what we managed to restore, they’ll be satisfied just fine, okay? I mean, I spent a really large amount of energy on those recovery spells and restoration wards, I’ll have you know.” 

Clarissa chuckled, holding her hand to her mouth as her dark eyes regarded her young leader. “Iit is not dat Ii dont beliif yoor instinkts, Druizyr Stilinski, boot not efferyuan is kooin’ too liik ‘is willink’nes too koopraat. Thaer wiill be sum woo want too fiiht ratter thaen ‘elp.” Stiles merely smiled as he replied. “I think they’ll find that a very bad idea sooner than later.” Clarissa didn’t even need to ask to know he had probably included a very particular clause in the treaty regarding naturally occurring punishments for those who dared to attempt break it, from either side.

Stiles Stilinski, a fake name for a fake person, he always thought bitterly. What use is a proper name when none can speak it properly at all? It is like calling a flower a tree and expect the same things to happen were you to do it properly. He had missed that, first time round, but not again. He was waiting in the shadows, observing the host he had lost to once before. A thousand years had thought him good patience, if anything. It had thought him to await his next invocation patiently and, although it had taken over a hundred years, he had lived again. But what use was a desiccated corpse, burned to a crisp? No, really his imprisonment by the young kitsune was a good thing – it gave him a chance to find a host so perfect and so right for him. It had been so difficult to plan it all, to perform the teenager act after studying his experienced memories and observe the placidly normal and predictable behaviour of his peers. None had been the wiser and all the time, he had planned and schemed. The first feeding was heaven, manna from the yonder world flowing in his arteries as he had drained the negative energy from the stupid teen wolf. They had all been so gullible, so easy to manipulate. Really, he would have won had they not received help from outside. They had cheated him from his rightful meal, foiled him from enacting his role in this unbalanced world. You can’t blame a fox for being a predator after all, can you?

Stiles had planned the ritual for over three years, beginning to execution and it had nearly killed him. Collecting samples from all native plants, ordinary and magical, combined with blood from all similar fauna, had been an absolute pain. You try explaining to an official why you just need the blood of a mountain lion or a specimen from a beetle threatened with extinction. If it hadn’t been for Deaton’s contacts, Peter’s influence, Derek’s funding and his father’s reach, it would have been a fruitless endeavour. But finally he had all necessary ingredients and the proper rituals had been completed, warding the entire preserve from unwanted eyes and making it impenetrable for anyone but the supernatural creatures he allowed in. He had reached out and contacted nearly every nymph native to the USA, informing each and every one of them of his plan to rejuvenate the Nemeton. The fact of his pack’s diversity, his innate spark, Deaton’s experience, their record of peacekeeping and the history of the Hale-territory had convinced each and every one of them in the end. It had been quite a gathering, over two thousand nymphs, dryads and nereids congregating around the Nemeton as the final ritual began. The sacrifices had been offered, the wards cast, spells chanted and blood-oaths renewed. By the time the ritual took effect, the stump of the Nemeton had been buried under a veritable heap of organic debris and surrounded by almost a pool of blood soaking the roots.

The thrumming had begun then, but that was it for almost a month, before the veritable growth spurt began and the Nemeton burst forth from its old roots, renewed. Okay, in hindsight, he might have overdone it. After all, the original ritual demands only a fraction of native life. He had decided upon a Noah-approach with one of each species, just because he wanted to make sure it would succeed and the county would be safe again. He couldn’t have known it would cause the Nemeton to renew the entire country. Okay, he could’ve but he hadn’t really believed it – I mean, it’s not like it had been done or even attempted at this scale before, right? Well, what happened, happened and a lot happened. Suddenly half of Beacon Hills was reduced to dust and the other half was grown over – imagine the fury his dad had brought on in the aftermath. But then again, he still had the company of over three thousands nymphs and over twenty dozen packs of supernatural creatures from all over the country. Lots of spells were quickly woven together in the excessive overflow of energy coming from the Nemeton and most houses and personal affects had been retrieved or restored with comparative easy. Add a dash of owner-relocation-spells and all would be easily found by its rightful owners – at least, that was what he thought until certain objects became very insistent they should be restored to their original creators and began digging up old graves. It had been fixed, obviously but still, it had given everyone a scare by demonstrating the awesome power of the restored Nemetii.

And then he had been chosen as an Elder, because he recreated and improved the ritual used for the renewal – something about it being a feat of magic unseen for about five hundred years. Pssht, Stiles had just mocked nobody had tried hard enough or thought about it the right way – obviously they hadn’t because it hadn’t been too hard, technically. Practically it had been a bitch to execute, but when had his life ever been anything but, so he had kinda expected it and taken it in with stride. But you can’t exactly say no to such a decision when it had several hundred nymphs, dozens of witches, tens of hellhounds and seven druids standing behind it – well, you could but your experience afterwards would be very, well, short lived… And so here he was, a fledgling Druid/Emissary, barely twenty years old and leading a supernatural extended pack of about twenty thousand big and growing with every passing day. No pressure, obviously – hardy-har-har.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's part of the POV's? =3 Whatever will he do? Whadaya-think? ;D


	3. The Druid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of chapter 1, sorry for the strange upload and lay-out :P

He sighed as they reached the outskirts of Beacon Hills, hurried along by the thrumming Ley-line they had entered and used to reach the border camp. It still intrigued him how the thauma-telluric currents, so intricately and extensively connecting the Nemetii and Places of Power together in a vast worldwide web, were also able to teleport magical creatures if a powerful Spark knew how to initiate the spell. Ok, granted, Stiles thought it was more of an innate function rather than a manipulation of the currents but no sources for confirming that hypothesis anywhere. Strangely enough, instead of at the Nemeton, where you’d expect the current to end, it always spit them out in front of the high school. Deaton had explained it as a loose end formerly connected to a now lost power source, perhaps also explaining why the Hale family vault was located on roughly the same spot. He had filed it away a long while ago in the “need to research this later”-file of his mental library, somewhere next to “perfect pizza recipes”- and “definitely not DH porn”-folders. What can he say? A man has to have his priorities straight and those three folders technically rule his major trains of thoughts, if you ignored the countless track-changes along the way…

As he was plotting his way through the crowded streets, towards the former-vet-clinic-now-turned-druidic-training-centre, he was plotting the planned events for the next three weeks. Having been possessed and your mind heavily compartmentalized came with certain unexpected benefits, such as very diverse and highly detailed trains of thoughts being planned out at once, neatly separated by his mental capabilities and organized to the smallest detail. He was organizing the next diplomatic meetings up to three months later, discussing the planned arguments between sides during those meetings, laying out the pro’s and con’s of each argument that each side would raise up, making a long list of plants they needed to expand the herbarium about the Nemeton and Hale vault, trying to fit in his next visits to newcomers and newly moved in families of paranormals, all the while as he kept his eyes on the way and carefully avoided a pack of goblins as they ran amok in the middle of the street as they chased some stray goat – for some less-than-nefarious-but-very-tasteless means…

Taking his eyes from the road a moment orzo, he suddenly found himself in the cemetery, observing a solemn Lydia wandering through the new and old graves alike, whispering to entities only she could see or hear and writing down something every so often. She was passing along messages from those wronged or dead before their times, hoping to bring some measure of solace and closure to their families. And the gods know how much closure is needed at a time like this – dozens, if not hundreds of dead, all because of the sudden upheaval and renewal. All because of him. And that though stirs a very dark memory in the back of his mind, never having been truly gone, just very dormant and occasionally stirring. It’s part of the Nogitsune, but not the Nogitsune. It’s like an echo of the spirit, dulled by fading memory and softened by his sub consciousness. Bit still, it’s too eerily similar in its thinking to keep him relaxed whenever it speaks. And it spoke a lot lately, too much in fact.

“Such a silly child. You should have listened when you had the chance, Stiles. I could have helped, lessened the damage. But you had to be stubborn, didn’t you? I’m part of you, Stiles, you know that. You could easily snuff me out if you wanted to, but you’re afraid. Afraid that, without me, you’ll never be strong enough to defend your pack, that you can’t kill for them if need be. I’m here, Stiles. Use me. Listen to me. Embrace me.” He silenced the voice, pushing it back to the darkness from where it kept coming, fed by his growing insecurities and frights that could befall his loved ones. Had he the power, no, rather hadn’t he needed the power of those fears, he would have emptied that dark space out and extinguished the dark fire that was the remnant of that accursed fox. It was difficult, balancing his power from drawing both his good and bad memories but it worked, for now. Hatred and fear to push momentum, blessed memories and lessons to stymie the range and focus on the goal. Dark fire to fuel it and light to keep it in check. Rather poetic, if he could say so.

By the time he arrived at Deaton’s former clinic, a small group of people were following him, silently waiting for him to acknowledge their presence before they’d start their pleas. He turned, nodding at the first and then another, as each one told their story and delivered their request. Most of them were obviously normal requests, asking for certain items to be retrieved and such – each redirected to his assistants who’d help with the normal requests much sooner than he could. Only one had a request that he knew he couldn’t redirect. It had been a small witch, obviously extremely aged and it wouldn’t surprise him if she were a Salem-witness – witches were adept at using ambient energy to prolong their lives or rejuvenate their bodies, each with its limit but very useful and long-lasting if properly combined with other spells and such. “I merely ask of you, sir, that you aid me with finding my sister. She had moved around and about Beacon Hills before she had settled and fallen out of touch. I would greatly approve your help and can supply a few spells of my own making I believe you have not yet in your own possession.” Agreeing after a few more discussions and a boatload of details, she went her way as he turned again and entered the building.

As he felt the wards of the structure wash over him and remove the thaumatic residue from him, Deaton’s latest apprentice - a young dryad girl barely sixteen years old, greeted him. “Good afternoon, Stiles. Deaton’s waiting for you in the infirmary – he just finished a series of operations and has made a few discoveries you ought to know.” Nodding and following after her, Stiles observed the multitude of paranormals waiting for diagnosis and treatment from the human and paranormal physicians. The past weeks had seen many people wandering into previously safe areas now habituated by rather powerful and dangerous paranormal creatures. Not only had the land been renewed but the original distribution of paranormal creatures as well. A large portion of certain species had become human or something else befitting their personalities, while other humans had become paranormals. They were busy tracking down and collecting all the rogue and feral creatures that had been formed. For most species, it had been a blessing, as their numbers had increased manifold but others had found it a blow as their numbers had been decimated in some cases. Werewolves were much rarer now, as were other were-creatures such coyotes or jaguars. Dryads were now most common and they formed the biggest problems, as their command over nature was still largely instinctive in the new individuals.

He entered the recovery ward, seeing Deaton busy with an elderly man and his children. Stiles could see that the man was a new paranormal, a shifter of sorts but he couldn’t see more clearly. Evidently Deaton had given the man an amulet for control and suppression of his new wild inner-animal. Deaton saw him when glancing over once finished and Stiles waited for the elder man to reach him. “Stiles, how was the meeting with the president of the formerly united states?” Stiles smiled as he told what had been discussed and agreed upon, slowly walking along the man to his office. “Good, it went well then. Let’s go inside now, I have much to tell you myself.” Stiles sat down as Deaton took out a few drinks and offered one to Stiles. Deaton remained silent for a while after sitting down, eyeing Stiles. “One of my patients today, a shifter covered in burns, told me he saw a dragon to the north.” This made Stiles nearly choke on his drink, barely holding the fluid in as he snorted and coughed. “Well then, directly down to business. Shit, a dragon? How big? Old or new?” Deaton smiled, “Obviously new, as dragons had been virtually extinct worldwide for at least five centuries. I don’t have to explain that before this, there were less dragons left in the entire world than fingers you could count on a single hand.”

“Now, please don’t say that dragons are shifters as well.” Stiles muttered as he wiped his face clean, waiting for Deaton to answer. “Unfortunately, yes. Non-shifter dragons have gone extinct over five thousand years ago, even if their legends remained. If such a large predator cannot blend in via shifting, it would be hunted down and killed, beginning from the moment it was first seen by human eyes as a threat. We have the fortune that one of the old dragon-shifters will be visiting in a week, so we could wait until then before we control this new dragonling. But we’ll have to quarantine the area none the less. We can do it, with the help of our five apprentices but it’ll take a lot even then. A dragons territory can cover as much as a thousand square miles, so we’ll have to quick and clever.” Stiles groaned as Deaton finished, hating the fact this meant another week of barely enough sleep to function properly. Thank the gods for energy drinks and sleep spells.


	4. The Drake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one should not tickle a sleeping dragonling - or any fire-spewing wyrm for that matter...

This was definitely the moment in Stiles’ life when Hogwarts’ motto, “Never tickle a sleeping dragon”, was at its most appropriate. He and the others were about to seal in a dragon, in its own territory, against its will, on their own, without other dragons to help them. He was pretty sure they were going to die trying this, as he tried to calm the fast beating of his heart and suppress his nervousness. He and Deaton would initiate the Bearer Seals, which would anchor the spell to this area and supply the barrier with power via the Ley-line they’d be anchored in. Then their assistants would erect their own Helper Seals, to expand the barrier and strengthen it by tying it in with the ambient energies of the region. He could only hope the dragon wouldn’t sense them, but considering what the witness had told them, he wasn’t too afraid about that. It would probably be asleep, tired and confused by this entire shifting-ordeal but still. If it sensed them and would become afraid or enraged, they’d be in for it. There was only so much that a magical barrier can protect against and dragon fire is not yet tested to be fitting in that broad and yet too small list. A crackle from the talkie sounds and Deaton begins the countdown, making Stiles raise the sceptre and begin muttering the spell. As the countdown ends, he rams it into the soil, pulling thaumic energy behind him to supply the brute force. A dull echo sounds, more of a deep rumbling under the ground than in the air, as the spell casts itself between the Bearer Seals and begins enveloping the area. And then comes the roaring. “Fuck…”

The feral dragonling had apparently woken up and assuming from the loud crashes made nearby, it had sensed him first above anyone else and was now rampaging through the forest towards him. The Bearer Seal was anchored now, as the thrumming of the Ley-line reverberated through it and into the air. Letting go of the sceptre and clasping his hands together, Stiles summoned a set of barriers around him and the Bearer Seal, neatlessly seaming into the greater barrier that was slowly growing outwards from its connection between the two Bearer Seals. Fire and ashes became visible through the dense growth now and Stiles knew the feral dragonling was probably lighting the forest on fire in its unbriddled rage. Then, there, he saw it, a massive form more worm than reptile but brilliantly red alike a ruby filled with blood, a glossy sheen casting forth from the deep-red scales. Its head was broad, almost like that of a salamander, with long fleshy whiskers flowing from its snout and several pairs of horns extruding above and beyond its brow, framing the broad head in a spiky trail. But the eyes, gods, those eyes – luminous on their own accord, a brilliant gold almost as bright as the sun but with such a dark gleam behind them, as if filled by the very essence of night. And still, still he could see, beyond those two colours, a flickering of another colour, a blue haze betraying the intelligence that so perfectly animated this creature before its feral transformation. And then that head rammed his side of the barrier, knocking Stiles back several meters when the sudden shockwave hit him straight on.

It couldn’t pass the combined barriers and its massive talons, claws nearly a meter long and seemingly made from obsidian, uselessly tried rendering the magical wall mute. In its frustration, a deep rumbling became audible and its flat belly began glowing from within, the scales lighted from underneath and looking like a golden hoard illuminated by a powerfull torch. It let out a great roar, a scorching fire belching out behind it and streaming against the dome of the thaumic barrier, flowing up and aside. As it rolled on the inside of the barrier, it caught the surrounding forest on fire, reducing the nearest trees to ash nearly instantly and fusing the soil beneath into a filthy glass-like sheet, instantly crushed and powdered by the trashing paws of the dragonling. It was such a demonstration of raw power that it left Stiles speechless, even when Deaton and their apprentices reached him and cast their own barriers upon the dome, which now reached its full size, reinforcing it and solidifying it. “Well, that was easy.”

“Good job, everyone, we’ll leave some of the dryads to patrol the barrier and keep it strong until the elder dragon arrives. But before we leave, we must bow. It’ll calm it down, allowing us to then leave the gifts we brought to appease it for the time being.” Deaton spoke, bowing for the feral dragonling who was by now calmer and observing them. After he bowed, the creature gave a soft nod, a cue for Deaton to take out a large piece of brass and throwing it through the barrier into the paw of the waiting dragonling. The apprentices followed suit, Stiles closing it as last and casting a large gem into the open paw. “Thank you for your patience. Rest now, for you shall not be disturbed again.” As they left the area, the creature lumbered back into the forest, stomping out any trees still on fire and swiping away the trail of ash it had left behind. Stiles was glad but exhausted, this had gone smoother than expected but had been more tiring than he planned. And a good meal was very overdue… Unfortunately, Deaton had other plans as he dragged Stiles back towards his former vet-hospital. A long meeting was coming and Stiles dreaded meetings...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods, I wrote this new chapter quite a few months ago and had completely forgot about it. I've written another chapter today and am lucky it just so happens to neatly connect without any intention. Hoozah for consistent interfic logic :D


	5. Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an old wife tells a dark tale...

Stiles sighed as he exited Deaton's former vet-hospital and made his way through the throngs of people waited to be allowed in and examined. The meeting had been long and arduous, extremely boring by any of Stiles' standards – and he had quite a few by now... A few of his trusted guards gently carved a path for him through the crowd, as he stopped occasionally to hear the tales of a few paranormals whose strain or race he couldn't immediately verify. By this point, he had come to expect to find out that every possible legend, every last urban tale of supernatural creature was to be found, in fact, very truthful and reliable a resource towards those creatures' behaviour as any bestiary could be. Indeed, his own bestiary, ever since he had initiated the ritual, had become almost a dozen times thicker. Every day still a few of his apprentices noted down information of newly discovered paranormals and super-naturals. It was kind of overwhelming, Stiles had to admit, to find out that not only mermaids exist, but that they also exist as separate species for every major variation of the themes regarding their legends and myths. He had seen almost twenty species of mermaid by new, disturbed to find that, by far, the deep-sea mermaids were not only the most ferocious and righteous but also the most abundant in number. Then again, it made sense considering how much of the ocean was in fact considered abyssal in depth. Luckily, thanks or rather due to his ritual, their numbers overall had stabilized and steadily increased, finding a new balance between their societies across all seven oceans. Still, to be crowned Honorary Guardian by all five-hundred mermaid states was quite eery yet precious.

He let the dark pearl, suspended for a cord of seaweed-woven rope, roll between his fingers as he remembered his, by lack of a more appropriate word, knighting by the Abyssal Queens. He saw a few mermaids in human guise eye him from afar, bending their head in reverie and respect when they saw he had noticed their stares. He simply smiled and gave them, each and everyone every time, a small gesture of mutual respect. To see their eyes widen in recognition and a smile flash across their face, even if it did show rather sharper than normal teeth, gave him a small sense of satisfaction and easy every time. By the time he had exited the crowd, he had sensed Derek approach for a while, slowly but surely, probably equally hung up by various pleas and requests. Seeing the brooding wolf finally emerge from behind a nearby house made Stiles smile broadly, even more so when Derek smiled equally broadly. As they reached one another and Derek carefully scented Stiles' cheeks and neck, the crowd noticed their meeting and began appealing with their pleas anew. Stiles didn't mind, knew the effect of seeing two of the most powerful and respected leaders of all paranormaldom and supernature had on the older people who had never thought to see such a renewal of supernatural life as in the ancient days. Facing the crowd together and figuring they might as well hear whomever had anything to say, Stiles willed some nearby roots to form a broad seat for them. As they sat down and Derek gestured to his own guards, a pair of wolfs and kitsunes, the guards allowed people through, one at a time. They were the usual pleas, asking to find loved ones, wanting to know where to settle, … As each was directed to the appropriate assistant, they finally reached the last one. An ancient hag, bend under the weight of countless years and with eyes as white as snow, slowly hobbled towards them, curtsying in an almost creaking bow before she spoke. As she spoke, she kept her blind eyes solely on Stiles, as if she couldn't see or focus on anything else. “The wolf guards, yet the fox still lives. The tree grows, yet the mountain erodes. Ripples becomes waves, by due of the pebble in the pond. Yet death nears as life lives. Beware, Elder Stiles, beware. Beware the fox in the night. Beware the wolf in the light. Not all is clear as I can see, yet I know this – do not trust the nagging doubt nor the steadfast silence of arrogance.” As the last syllable left her lips, she collapsed, leaving only a dessicated corpse of old bones held together in a sack of dried skin. Stiles knew what she had done, that she had extended her life beyond many years, simply to tell him this. And there was only one reason an ancient hag would do something like that. “Dear gods,” Stiles muttered, “a forked prophecy of doom...”

By the time they entered their home, formerly the burned-down Hale-mansion and now a stately cathedral of green trees and densely interwoven lattices of branches, Derek had managed to suppress the most of his worry, focussing directly on the most ominous portent. “Stiles, is the Nogitsune still present in you?” Stiles didn't know how to answer that, didn't know he wanted to answer that, so he simply walked on as he began babbling some nonsensical gibberish. “Bah, double bah! Darned hag, she dared. Ah, can't blame her, can I? One does what one must, I guess. Maybe the Green Queen for help? Nah, she hates my face, not me, just my face. The Green Man than, tho he'd rather fuck me than help me. Darned horny goat. Pan? Nah, too erratic. Tefiti? Hmm, too far away – I don't wanna travel ten thousand miles via telluric highway...” His babbling was forced silent as Derek grabbed him by the shoulders and pierced his alpha-red eyes into Stiles' emerald greens. “Stiles. Is the Nogitsune still present within you?” Stiles staid silent, hoping that, for once, in a million to one chance, Derek might not stay in pursuit of an answer if none was given. Usually, in a million to one chances, they occur nine times out of ten, but then again, Derek was not usual. Because Derek reiterated the question once more. “Is it still present?” Stiles felt incredibly small and naked as he silently affirmed the suspicion by nodding his head, though in his head he'd rather be naked with Derek than with anyone else. Naked and kissing, letting his hands roam all across that hot piece of- No! Stiles silently rebuked his disturbed and erratic train of thinking. No thinking about Derek's perfectly shaped gluteus maximus or his perfect di- Stiles rebuked himself again, as he watched Derek's eyes grow cold, sad and angry at the same time “How long have you know this, Stiles?” Stiles didn't dare trust his voice, glancing to the adjoining rooms, nervous lest one of his devotees'd see him struggle so mightily with as simple a thing as his voice. “Always, I think. Ever since we won against it, really. It never really went away, not completely. I think it took the place of my darker inner-thoughts when you banished it from my mind. It could be it's just my own thoughts, just tainted by the memory of that thing – I don't know. And Derek, I really don't wanna know either. I spend so much time in fear for that thing, always anxious that it'd pop back up into our lives and rape my mind again. I – I just wouldn't be able to cope with that, so I've forced myself to ignore every trace of it, even that small voice it has left in my thoughts. I'm sorry, Derek, I just couldn't-”

Derek cuts Stiles of at that point, pressing the slender man against his muscled frame as Stiles begins sobbing, his tears finally let go now that Stiles has been pressed to evaluate his fears regarding the Nogitsune. Derek had always known this would keep haunting Stiles, but he hadn't dare fear that it'd keep plaguing the young man this badly. For the umpteenth time in their short relationship of barely two years, Derek wished his powers could drain emotional pains as well as physical ones. As he comforted Stiles with his trademark Brooding-Hale-Death-Hug – Stiles' nomenclature, not Derek's – Derek for the first time felt he had really failed to take Stiles' emotions into account. Signing at the mute banshee-girl waiting in a hidden corner nearby, one of Lydia's apprentices and without a doubt the best person to deal with grief and similar emotions. Derek had noticed her early one, when Lydia had take her on as an apprentice just a few days into the completion of the ritual. And when Derek had seen the girl successfully console and comfort a grieving Unseelie mother, he had known she'd always be his first pick whenever he needed help taking care of Stiles' many undealth-with emotional scars. Derek had spend many nights comforting Stiles ever since they had first shared a bed together. Prior to that day, he had never thought of Stiles as anyone to be awakened by nightmares. He had always thought Stiles too though and sarcastic for that. Had he been wrong... Stiles woke with maddening regularity almost every night in the beginning, with things getting so bad at one point that the pale youngster had begun downing half a dozen sleeping pills nightly. When he began moving up that number beyond half a dozen, Derek had forcefully restrained him and talked some sense into his mind. It had taken a very long and stern talking to and a very professional/patient psychiatrists, but Stiles had managed since to sleep without too many awakenings and without the aid of sleeping pills.

Now Derek saw the mute girl return with Lydia in tow, the feisty redhead having already dialled her comforting smile as she took over Stiles from Derek and led the young Elder upstairs, towards the Sanctum. It had been Stiles' idea to create the room, collecting a variety of rare herbs and plants with soothing and calming properties around a natural wellspring with small waterfalls. The whole cathedral home had been build around it, growing around the curves of the small hill the wellspring originated from. Now, with the plants solidly rooted by the Nemeton's aid, they all were in full bloom, as immersing fragrances filled the air and vibrantly coloured flowers lined the walls. Lydia led Stiles into the small pool just beneath the wellspring, guiding his slender frame as it slid under the perfectly still water's surface. Not a ripple strained the mirror-like water, even as Stiles disturbed its surfaces and broke below it. As Stiles' head slid under the water-level, a small envelope of air instantly forming around it by virtue of his latent protective powers, Lydia led her fingers ring across the crystal stones lining the pool. Another one of Stiles' ideas, crystals that resonated with water's frequencies and sounded as clear within it as without it. With Lydia playing the tones, it become an extremely soothing melody, clearly designed and written to lull anyone into a peaceful dreamless sleep. Soon, Stiles was deeply asleep and Lydia left her mute assistant by his side as she left to discuss the day's events with Derek...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaay for you guys, two chapters in one day! :P

**Author's Note:**

> Everything will be explained - also, Renovabitur Mundus means Renewed World.


End file.
